


Celtics Spunk

by JiniZ



Series: 15 Year Old Me Was An Idiot [17]
Category: Boston Celtics - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 00:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1919676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JiniZ/pseuds/JiniZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first woman drafted into the NBA. Can she hold her own against the guys?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celtics Spunk

**Author's Note:**

> I officially transitioned to the Boston Celtics at this point. Pure fantasy - I had zero clue how being drafted actually works. The plot barely exists. All I wanted was a reason to get this character together with Larry Bird. All spelling/grammatical/punctuation errors left intact.

So, like, I had just graduated from Hofstra, and I had been on the basketball team all four years. I’d been on the team ever since 6th grade, for that matter. I loved the game. I was planning to go to law school, but put if off so I could go to the Celtics training camp just for the fun of seeing if I could make it. I wasn’t expecting to make it, but when the day came for first round draft picks, my name was on it. I nearly had a coronary. Me. Playing for the team I’ve idolized since I started playing basketball. Me. The 1st woman player in the NBA. I was so shocked when the coach read my name, I asked him if he was joking. He said no, and that only me, and Greg Kite made the team. I was to be a reserve foreward, and Greg was gona be a reserve center (cos he’s 6’11”. Me, myself personally am 6’1” flat-footed.) Greg was so happy he hugged me and swung me around.

The next day, Greg and I were shipped out to Boston Garden via Jitney. We talked the whole way there, which was about 2 ½ hours. We became really great friends. We were just acquaintences at the end of camp, but after getting to know each other more, we were like brother and sister. Always looking out for each other.

So, we get to Boston Garden, and we have to get to know everybody and get changed for pratice. But 1st we had to get uniforms. Greg chose #50 and I took #11(there was no Sam Vincent in this story), standing for Porsche 911. The guys were really great. Their attitude about me was pretty positive. They all commented that I was the tallest woman they’d ever known. They also went kind of easy on me during pratice. Once I realized this, I let loose some pretty tough moves. And once they realized I meant business, they seemed to forget all about the easiness they had used. 

After pratice in the lockerroom was rather interesting. K.C. had a part of the place sectioned off just for me to shower and get changed. (They had to do that at the camp too.) ½ the guys tried to look, but Greg fended them off for me.

So, after I got dressed, I shielded my eyes and headed for the door. I waited outside for Gred who told me he’d take me out on a congratulatory dinner.While I was waiting outside, on the floor, trying to fluff my towel-died hair up, Scott Wedman and Danny Ainge came out, carrying duffle bags of their own. Scott saw me 1st. “Hey, Maggie,” he said. “I gotta hand it to you. You’ve got spunk & determination. I, personally, wondered how you made it this far, but after today’s pratice, now I know.”

“Thanx, I think.” I stood up and brushed the seat of my jeans off. 

“Yeah,” Danny agreed. “You and Greg are both good assets to the team.”

“Thanx,” I blushed. 

Danny held out his hand for me to shake. “See ya tomorrow.”

“Right. Bye Danny.” 

Scott held up his hand. “You know,” he said, “If I wasn’t semi-happily married, you’d be my 1st candidate.”

I was too embarrassed to say anything except, “See ya tomorrow, you joker.” Then they left me waiting for Greg. I’d say I was pacing with my duffle flung over my shoulder for maybe 2 minutes when Larry, Kevin and Bill came bounding out the door all clad in blazers and oxfords over jeans and sneakers. 

“Good work today, kid,” Bill said as he rested an arm on my free shoulder. Apparently he thought I was a wall just high enough to lean against. I moved out from under him, causing him to stumble a few feet before he cought his balance. 

“The only reason I’m going to tolerate ‘kid’ from you is becos you’re 9 inches taller than I am,” I said. “Otherwise, I’d wressle ya to the floor.”

“Spunky thing ain’t she?” Kevin said.

“You’re the 2nd person who’s told me that,” I said.

“Well then, you have now been branded ‘Spunky’,” Larry said.

“Great,” I deadpanned. 

“So, uh, what are you doing tonight?” Bill asked.

“Why?” I asked a little leary. 

“Well, the 3 of us wanted to take you out to dinner for being the 1st woman in the NBA,” Larry said.

“Oh, that’s sweet of you,” I said, “but I’ve already got a dinner date.”

“Who made their move?” Kevin asked haistely. “Gerry? Rick? Danny?”

“No. Greg did.”

“No wonder he stuck up for you,” Larry said. “How close are you 2?”

These guys really like to pry, I thought. “We’re just friends. I mean, come on, he told me all about his fiancée on the way up here. HE is spoken for.”

“That’s what they all say,” Bill said. “He could change his mind.”

“Come on guys,” I said. “He’s like a brother to me. Like Nancy & Phillip McKeeon. Jason & Justine Bateman.”

“Well,” Larry said, “I think she’s set in her ways. No kissey, to touchey – “

“No Horizonty.” I finished for him. 

“You too?” He asked.

“Listen,” Kevin said, “We’ll take you both out to dinner. Compliments of Robert Parrish.”

“Pardon you?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Bill said. “We do that as a joke. Charge dinner’s to each other. Loosens things up.”

Just then, Greg came out of the L.R. “Hey hun!” I said. 

“Hey babe.” He said giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Ready to go.”

“Uh, not exactly.”

“Why?”

“You guys explain it,” I said. So they did and Greg said sure, so we went to Cheers for drinks and dinner. I was kind of embarrassed becos the guys ate sorta light, and I practically got a 7-course meal. I was working on a double bacon cheeseburger with a large fri when Kevin turned to Bill and goes “She can pack it away, can’t she?”

Bill almost spit his linguine onto the table. I swallowed my food and said, “This is how I get my energy. I can’t play w/out a healthy ammount of food in me.”

“But you’re not playing in ten minutes,” Larry said.

“Extracurricular activities,” I said batting my eye lashes. The guys exchanged glances.

“All ready?” Greg asked. “You’ve been in town all of four hours, and you were either praticing or eating.”

“I DO have a lot of unpacking to do. Besides, I don’t gain weight.”

“Oh no?” Larry asked. “What’s this?” He pinched my leg.

“Pure muscle.”

“Really?” Bill asked. “What size jeans are you wearing?”

“5/6.”

“You’re a size smaller than my wife.”

“Kevin wanted to change the subject. “Hey Spunk,” he said, “What made you decide to try out for the team?”

“Well, I’ve been playing ball for e – since 6th grade, and a friend of mine wanted me to try out. So, I put off law school for a year, and tried it for the fun of it. I didn’t expect to actually make it.”

“But why the Celtics?” Greg asked.

“My dad brought me up on sports. Lessee, for the NFL there were the Raiders and Rams, MLB the Dodgers and Red Sox, for the NBA it was the Celtics.”

“But weren’t you nervous today if you were brought up to <3 the Celtics?” Larry asked.

“Scared to death. But my motto got me thru it.”

Larry, Kevin and Bill exchanged questioning looks. “Show no fear, show no pain,” Greg answered for me.

“Pain?” Bill asked. “What would you know about pain?”

“As much as you do. You’ve had your nose broken what? 13 x’s is it?” he nodded. “I’ve only got 2 more to go, and I’m up with you.”

“11 x’s?” Larry asked in disbelief. “That little nose has been broken 11 x’s?”

I profiled and touched my nose with my index finger. “Yep. The miracle of a nose job. 11 to be exact.”

“Jeeze,” Bill said. “What do you average? 2 a year?”

“One a year. Not to mention various cuts and bruises, a few fractured fingers, and various broken nails. But nothing a serious as Ewing’s knee or Kevin’s achillies.”

“Don’t suppose you played with the broken nails,” Larry joked.

“Yes, I played with the broken nails,” I said. “Even with broken fingers.”

“Yeah,” Greg agreed. “Do you see this?” He took my left hand and showed my pinkey. It’s kinda deformed ({I drew a picture} something like that). “Played her HS sophomore year with a fractured finger. It’ll never be the same again. She refused to splint it. She taped it up. Do you believe it?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “We were losing. I had to play. I don’t let a little thing like pain get in the way of a game.”

“You really DO have spunk,” Kevin said. 

“My dad tought me to be like that. He just barely missed making the Clippers by this much.” I held my fingers an inch apart. “He wanted my brother to go into pro ball, but Brad was too busy creating long-tailed hamsters, and disease resistant corn. So, I became the next target. Daddy’s little girl in the NBA. I’m still having trouble believing it.”

“Believe it hun,” Bill said. “You made it. The ERA is proud of you.”

 

So, there was a game 2 days later. I wore my luckey green garter, green argyles, and my 4-leaf clover for good luck. When I subbed for Kevin, I almost wasn’t alloud to wear it (garter), but I persuaded the officials somehow, and was able to wear it. I do believe I was also the first person in the history of the NBA to wear any other socks than white tube socks. 

The guys on the other team hardly touched me for a few minutes, but they were like the Celts, and realized I meant business. I was at the foul line 3x’s, got 4 fouls, and ripped off ½ a nail. D.J. saw some blood drip to the floor, and called a time out. It hardly bothered me. I just dunked it in peroxide and stuck a band-aid on it. K.C. was like, “You sure you want to play?”

“W/11 broken noses, 6 fractured fingers, and 7 ripped nails, I think I can play,” I said. 

“You’re positive?”

“100% positive. A little blood won’t hurt anybody.” So, I went back out and played for maybe a minute when I was shoved to the ground on an offensive foul, and the ref called it on me. I, of course, argued w/him and pulled a technical. I also twisted my ankle, but said nothing. Why should I say anything? It wasn’t all that bad. Not until I was tripped by Lloyd (Huston Rockets). I wound up on the floor, and REALLY twisting my ankle. I took the 2 foul shots (made both), and tried to jog to the other end of the court, but the ankle gave out completely. I wound up on the floor, in major pain. (No, I didn’t show it.) I was carried off the floor in the “armchair” manner by Bill & Larry. Another time out was called, but it was only a 20 second timer. Greg went in w/2:51 left in the game (we were up by 12). They wanted to take me to the lockerroom, but I wanted to stay and see Greg play. 

“You’ve gotta get that tended to,” K.C. said. 

“What’s 2 ½ minutes?” I asked.

“It’s swelling. Come on. You can watch it on t.v.”

“No. I can handel it. Trust me.”

“You’ll be out longer the longer you put it off.”

“Oh, all right.” So I gobbled off using Rick Carlisle as a leaning post.

 

“You better come to the hospital,” he said.

“But Doc,” I whined. “I can’t go. The guys will be back any minute.”

“I’m sure ‘the guys’ will understand why you left.”

“Oh, fudge! Rick, tell Greg I’m proud of his 1st game, will ya?”

“You got it Spunk.”

 

So, I go to the hospital, acquire an as bandage, an ankle support, and a pair of crutches. They let me go, and I went back to the Garden. I could’ve crutched it back (It was only a block), but I would’ve looked weird going down the street in my uniform, so I got a cab.

I crutched it inside and to the lockerroom. I forgot that the guys had to take showers, so I turned to face the door and go (rather loudly), “Ahem! Cover up! Woman aboard!”

So everybody covered up and I crutched it to the table and hopped up on it. I was promptly bombarded w/questions. “Are you okay?” “Does it hurt much?” “How long are you out for?” “How can you handle all that pain?”

“Yes, I’m okay; No, it doesn’t hurt much; I’m out for 3 weeks; I chew gum and clench my toes.”

“This, men, is the perfect example of a Celtics member,” Bill said. “Even in the roughest time, she keeps a stiff upper lip.”

I blushed and said, “I grew up w/pain, Billy Boy. In my school, you were either the hunter or the hunted. I was the hunted for a while.”

“But you still got it,” Greg said.

“I’m gona let you guys get changed and I’m gona go home, shower, and go to Cheers. For anybody who’s interested, I’m buying. For EVERYBODY. See ya later”

 

“Here’s to a championship season,” D.J. toasted. Nobody disagreed.

“Here’s to the 2 newest members of the team,” Kevin toasted. “To Gregory Darling and Spunk.” (I call Greg, Gregory Darling, so they took it.)

After about an hour of toasting, we all danced on the floor. I nearly died laughing when Kevin & Larry did the tango together. After that, we all decided to pack it in for the night. Larry took me home becos he lived something like 4 houses down from me. He walked me to the door and said, “I’m really impressed w/you, Spunk. You’re good on that court.”

“Only good? I thought I was great.”

He laughed, then leaned over and kissed me. When we came up for air, he said, “Finally, a woman my height.”

It was my turn to giggle. “No, finally a MAN, MY height.”

“Mind if I come in for a drink?”

“Not at all.”

(Drink? What drink?)

END.


End file.
